She thought, vaguely, as she had many times thought before, of cutting adrift from the entire clique, but there was no return of that sincere emotional desire to reform which she had experienced on the day that Monte Irvin had taken her hand, in blind trust, and had asked her to be his wife. Had she analyzed, or been capable of analyzing, her intentions with regard to the future, she would have learned that daily they inclined more and more towards compromise. The drug habit was sapping will and weakening morale, insidiously, imperceptibly. She was caught in a current of that “sacred river” seen in an opium-trance by Coleridge, and which ran— “Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.” Pyne’s big car was at the stage-door on the fateful Saturday night, for Rita had brought her dressing-case to the theatre, and having called for Kilfane and Mollie Gretna they were to proceed direct to Limehouse. Rita, as she entered the car, noticed that Juan Mareno, Sir Lucien’s man, and not the chauffeur with whom she was acquainted, sat at the wheel. As they drove off: “Why is Mareno driving tonight, Lucy?” she asked. Sir Lucien glanced aside at her. “He is in my confidence,” he replied. “Fraser is not.” “Oh, I see. You don’t want Fraser to know about the Limehouse journey?” “Naturally I don’t. He would talk to all the men at the garage, and from South Audley Street the tit-bit of scandal would percolate through every stratum of society.” Rita was silent for a few moments, then: “Were you thinking about Monte?” she asked diffidently. Pyne laughed. “He would scarcely approve, would he?” “No,” replied Rita. “Was that why you were angry when I told you I was going?” “This ‘anger,’ to which you constantly revert, had no existence outside your own imagination, Rita. But” he hesitated—“you will have to consider your position, dear, now that you are the future Mrs. Monte.” Rita felt her cheeks flush, and she did not reply immediately. “I don’t understand you, Lucy,” she declared at last. “How odd you are.” “Am I? Well, never mind. We will talk about my eccentricity later. Here is Cyrus.” Kilfane was standing in the entrance to the stage door of the theatre at which he was playing. As the car drew up he lifted two leather grips on to the step, and Mareno, descending, took charge of them. “Come along, Mollie,” said Kilfane, looking back. Miss Gretna, very excited, ran out and got into the car beside Rita. Pyne lowered two of the collapsible seats for Kilfane and himself, and the party set out for Limehouse. “Oh!” cried the fair-haired Mollie, grasping Rita’s hand, “my heart began palpitating with excitement the moment I woke up this morning! How calm you are, dear.” “I am only calm outside,” laughed Rita.